


I Knew You'd Be Flexible

by Mottled_System



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Aftercare, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Armitage Hux Apologia, Armitage Hux Has Feelings, Armitage Hux Needs A Hug, BDSM, Begging, Birth Control, Biting, Breeding, Choking, Comfort/Angst, Crying, Desire, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Doggy Style, Dom/sub, Dominant Kylo Ren, Dubious Consent, Ears, F/M, Fantasizing, Force Bondage, Force Choking (Star Wars), Forced Orgasm, Forced Submission, Grinding, Groping, Hair-pulling, Harems, Heavy Angst, Humiliation, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inappropriate Behavior, Inappropriate Erections, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Kylo Ren Has A Harem, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Loss of Virginity, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Medical Procedures, Mind Reading, Mirror Sex, Mirrors, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay, Orgasm Delay/Denial, POV Second Person, Pining, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Protective Kylo Ren, Protective Siblings, Public Display of Affection, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Scratching, Seduction, Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Inexperience, Sexual Shame, Shame, Showers, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Love, Siblings, Simultaneous Orgasm, Slut Shaming, Strangulation, Struggling, Submission, Surgery, Teasing, Vaginal Sex, Virginity, Whore Shaming, Whorephobia, clitoral stimulation, hickey, spit, spitting, sub space
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:48:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25869958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mottled_System/pseuds/Mottled_System
Summary: You love the challenge of verbal sparring. Every interaction is like a game of chess wherein each move must be calculated and you must always anticipate your foe’s future moves, must always ascertain the sort of person they are and how they play in order to best them. That’s what you liked best about yourself- no matter your foe or their style, you’re resourceful and adaptive, and you always play to win, in chess and in arguments.He's going to do wonderful, horrible things to you, and he's going to ensure you love all of it. He’d been with many women before but you are going to be so different. They were minnows. You are a shark, and though it will be all too easy to make you bend to his will in the end, he’ll enjoy it so much more. You'll be indistinguishable from the minnows after that. It would have been better for you if you just submitted from the beginning- it would have been better if you’d known your place.And everyone’s place is at the mercy of Kylo Ren.
Relationships: Ben Solo & You, Ben Solo | Kylo Ren & Reader, Ben Solo | Kylo Ren & You, Ben Solo | Kylo Ren/Reader, Ben Solo | Kylo Ren/You, Ben Solo/You, Kylo Ren & Reader, Kylo Ren & You, Kylo Ren/Reader, Kylo Ren/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	1. Flexible

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Flexible (Scrapped; Being Rewritten)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22248763) by [Mottled_System](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mottled_System/pseuds/Mottled_System). 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein you agree to try to convince Kylo Ren to allow medical professionals to attend to his wounds.

It’s a curious thing to you- Kylo Ren’s hatred for you, or disdain, or whatever it may truly be. He’s never been downright cruel to you- as he is to so many others- but whenever you see him without his mask, he tenses and scowls. He is sharp and brusque with you where he is generally calm and indifferent. Of course, you know how unwise that is of him- your brother is the second most powerful man in the galaxy, and you’re not far behind him. He may be the apprentice of Supreme Leader, but he has no official rank in the military, and no reason to be respected or listened to by anyone other than a dubiously justified fear. Of course, you’d seen him strangle men without lifting a finger, interrogate and torture with the raising of a hand, inscinerate flesh with the swipe of his eratic lightsaber, but there was no real reason to allow him to do that. He was on a ship commanded by your brother, full of people loyal to you. He would likely be overpowered- eventually- should things come to blows.

And you’re growing awfully tired of his little outbursts.  _ Seven times _ you’d had to send a new officer to the medbay after he’d strangled them since his return to your ship four days ago- right after having gone and gotten himself injured (such a wonderful assassin he is) refusing to allow medics to attend to his wounds. Half the time, he didn’t even acknowledge them when they knocked, letting them wait there and wasting their time

Now, Armitage stands looking out the glass window of the ship, gloved hands folded behind his back. He isn’t good at hiding his emotions, and his seething fury is quite apparent on his shoulders as the medbay supervisor informs him of this. You can’t blame him.

“Wonderful,” says Armitage’s familiar voice, full of a sardonic and sickly-sweet rage. “Our Supreme Leader’s wunderkind is absolutely-”

“Brother,” you say gently in warning. He knows better than to continue- you shouldn’t have had to interrupt him.

“Thank you, doctor. I will speak to him immediately- advise your medics not to wait longer than five minutes from now on. We do have others to treat, after all.”

“Yes, General.”

You walk forward to stand beside your brother, who glances down at you, his anger melting away just a bit. You lived a rough childhood together- him much more so than you. You’ve grown quite close because of it. “I doubt it will go well if you speak to him about it,” you say.

“I doubt it will go well at all,” he counters, and he’s right. “I’ll have to mention it to Supreme Leader, but I feel- compelled to try and talk sense into him,” Hux huffs. “As if there’s any chance of him acting like a rational human being.”

His words border on wildly inappropriate to say here, aloud, in front of so many others. “I’m sure you’re quite miffed at the fact that he won’t listen to you. It is your ship, after all- he really ought to obey.”

“Precisely,” he sighs exasperatedly.

“Perhaps I should go,” you say softly. You’re not in the mood to deal with another heated sulking match between Armitage and Ren. Plus- there was a lower chance of him hurting you. You’d never seen him harm a woman, not directly. It almost felt more like an insult than chivalry, but you’d (hopefully) use it to your advantage with him.

“Mm,” Armitage considers it. “Perhaps it would be wise. I am a bit predisposed for the rest of the day… And I’m quite enjoying my momentary lapse in duty.”

You quirk your lips to the side in a smile and lay your temple against his shoulder. “You know I am always here to assist you, Ari,” you say. It is the definition of your job- helping him with whatever he bids you help him with. Though, he is a stubborn and dutiful man, and quite capable, so you rarely have much work to do. Most of it is running around playing secretary, or dealing with little issues just like some fool refusing treatment from the medbay.

“I know,” he says quickly. He’s not fond of you being so openly- gentle, but he is fond of you. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” You straighten and stand there for a moment, mentally considering how you’ll approach the subject with Ren before blindly marching off to his chambers.

“How quaint,” sounds the all-too familiar synthetic voice of Kylo Ren. “Like a family portrait.” His tone is mildly derisive, though it’s concealed enough to be acceptable. You turn as Armitage tenses, and offer a patient smile to the large man standing at the base of the steps. His feet are a meter below yours, but his head is only a half meter so. It’s almost strange to see him from this vantage.

You could chastise him here, in front of the entire command center, and he would be able to do little else but take it. You’re tempted to- you’ve never been power hungry or sadistic, though being around Kylo for some reason draws out the more toxic side of your ambitiousness. However, you decide against it- it may be rewarding to hear the wavering and cracking of his voice as he struggles to remain polite, but ultimately it will lead to nothing unless you try to march him straight down to the medbay from here, and you’re sure that would be a step too far. “I’d like to request your presence in my office at your earliest convenience- no, strike that- your earliest capability, please.”

You see his chin raise and wonder if he knows why you’re summoning him. “Yes, Commander.”

“When would that be, then?”

“My apologies,” he says entirely insincerely. His voice is cold and growing more bored by the second. “I don’t know.”

“I am a very busy woman, sir,” you say, taking a step down. You’ve lost some of your height, but you’re closer to him, your expression carefully calculated to be a soft threat. You’re careful to keep up appearances with everyone- especially threats, foes, rivals. “I haven’t got all day to wait around for you.”

“Yes, Commander,” he says, the synthetic projection of his voice not enough to mask the slight growl to it, the strong waver as his temper flares. You hate his helmet- you want to see his eyes narrow and twitch. You wonder how he looks when he’s angry. “I have to speak with General Hux, and I’ll report to your office immediately afterwards.”

A small victory, but one that melts the icy gleam in your eye, and you offer him a smile. Like a pressure hatch being opened, every ounce of desire to make him bend to your will flows away from you. The journey is always so much more satisfactory than the destination; destinations only lead to more journeys. This was a battle in the war for power against Kylo Ren, one that you’ve won- but it was not the war. You take another step down and your face is level with his mask. “Thank you, sir,” you say. You’re never sure what to call him, but sir never feels right. You surely aren’t going to call him Kylo or Ren- Kylo would be so informal it would be rude, and Ren is only his name in reference to those ridiculous ‘Knights’ you know so little about. You must remember to pester Armitage to request Supreme Leader give him a title, a rank- and then, you’ll have a more concrete understanding of his position in the Order, of his power within this delicate power complex. “I knew you’d be flexible.”

You walk past him almost skipping.


	2. Madam Commander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein you argue a bit with Kylo and agree to a strange arrangement, ending your brief battle as a draw.

You decide you are going to wait in your office- you are, in fact, not a particularly busy woman. You’re entirely unsure how to go about this still- are you above him in ranking? Even if not, you’re acting on behalf of Armitage, who certainly is. You aren’t sure whether request or demand will be more swaying to a man like Kylo Ren-

_ A man like Kylo Ren _ . He’s one of a kind, and thusly, you’re unfamiliar with the best tactic to win.

You love the challenge of coming out on top, of verbal sparring, of getting your way. Every interaction is like a game of chess- or, with less formidable opponents, sometimes checkers- wherein each move must be calculated and you must always anticipate your foe’s future moves, must always ascertain the sort of person they are and how they play in order to best them. That’s what you liked best about yourself- no matter your foe or their style, you’re resourceful and adaptive, and you always play to win, in chess and in arguments.

It’s almost tantalizing, the thrill of not knowing, of being able to lose. You won’t, though- you never do, not with anyone, not for a long time. The journey to your success, though, will be treacherous and challenging, stimulating in a way you haven’t felt since you were a girl, not so practiced or wise. The reminder that your destination will be lackluster, leading you to another, less formidable slope- you push that aside. You need to be at your best, not dejected. You try to summon that fiery desire for this particular power struggle once more.

He doesn’t bother knocking before sauntering into your office and taking an unbidden seat, perfectly setting the mood for this little meeting. You smile at him, though your eyes are predatory. It’s dimly lit in your office- brightness gives you migraines- and it gives a sort of dramatic verve to the encounter. “Remove your helmet, please.”

“Yes, Commander,” says Kylo Ren, removing it and setting it on your desk. That bothers you, but you can see his face now- it’s somewhat familiar, though not an entirely common sight. His hair is still too long and he still has that scar on his cheek. He’s calm and entirely neutral, not bothering to waste any energy to feel or emote. That’s not a typical response to him seeing you- he always tends to brace himself around you, something you admittedly revel in perhaps a hair too much. But now, today, he’s more of a robot without the helmet than with it. You swear you see his eyes and jaw twitch.

“How are your injuries?”

“They’re fine,” he says, almost annoyed, eyes narrowing slightly-  _ so that’s what this is about _ .

“I hear you’re refusing treatment,” you say.

His eyebrows raise in faux misunderstanding, though he barely puts any effort into making it believable. He’s testing the limits of your dedication to the structure of conversation, of politeness with his flagrant indifference, his readily apparent boredom. It’s a new, unfamiliar, and admittedly infuriating tactic. “I do not believe I have had any medical personnel at my door for the past few days. I had figured they had determined my wounds to be sufficiently healed to leave me alone- a conclusion I quite agree with, Madam Commander.” He doesn’t usually talk so formally, and each word he says with a sort of bite- he’s mocking you now, so subtly he could easily deny it should you react.

You decide in that exact moment that you absolutely hate this man, but nod understandingly. You hate the gentle, understanding expression you wear- because of your anger, it feels more condescending than genuine, because it is and you cannot help it. He’s winning- No. The condescension will anger him. It’s still an even playing field, even as he doesn’t want to play. “I see, sir. Perhaps you ought to report to medbay yourself, then.”

He will not be so easily defeated, though you’d doubted he would, even with such a reasonable response. “I’m a very busy man, Madam Commander,” he says, throwing your words back at you. And why is he calling you that-  _ Madam Commander _ ? It has a nice ring to it and you hate that he’s tainted it with- himself . “I’m afraid I cannot say I’d be true to that agreement.” You swear his voice almost takes on a lilt of an accent- mocking you further. He’s really pushing it now, but you’re determined not to bother chastising him for it- it’s bait. He gets a small, almost hungry smile on his face. What in the galaxy is that about? “Besides,” he continues, face sobering once more. “I’ve told you. I don’t need further treatment.”

“The head medic respectfully disagrees,” you say.

“Mm,” is his entire response. It’s so indifferent and nonchalant- he doesn’t give a rat’s ass about the medic’s opinion.

“If it’s not terribly intrusive,” you say, knowing full well it is terribly intrusive. “And you’re quite comfortable doing so,” you say, knowing he ought not be comfortable doing so. “Would you mind showing me, sir?”

He looks right through with steely, uninterested eyes. “Certainly, Commander,” he says, not sounding as shaken by the suggestion as you’d have liked him to be. He stands and slowly strips from the waist up- you’re almost impressed by how stone-cold and professional you remain as this behemoth of a man undresses for you. You’re only human, and he is quite attractive. And he’s stripping obediently for you. You stare at the vast, pale expanse of skin, the contours of his muscles, and the red wound on his side at the bottom of his ribcage. He hasn’t even bothered to wrap it himself- does he know the first thing about medicine? It’s going to get bloody  _ infected _ like that. You try not to grin like an adult seeing a foolish child embarrass themself with their naivete. He struggles to keep a scowl off of his face in response to the look on yours as you study the wound- maybe an inch deep at its deepest, three inches wide and two long. It doesn’t seem to be bleeding actively, though any movement would certainly cause it to do so.

“With all due respect, sir- and that is quite a lot- you most certainly do need medical attention.”

“Are you a doctor?” he asks, pretending to be curious- his passionate anger almost passes off as curiosity, but his flaming eyes reveal him. You  _ could _ chastise him for such a blatant slip of hand.

“I’m a surgeon, sir,” you say sweetly. “I graduated best in the galaxy in emergency care, and I’ve worked through many active battles. How kind of you to ask.” He’s taken down a notch by your answer, and it seems in more ways than one- did he truly think you incapable? How amusing- you had not gotten where you are by sheer luck, or merely riding off your father and brother’s coattails; of course, connections always help, but you were more than valuable as an asset. You always did get a strange amusement from being underestimated, of proving yourself to unsuspecting adversaries. He was foolish to have thought otherwise. He doesn’t respond, so you continue. “Sit, sir- please. What with that wound, we wouldn’t want you to tire and grow weak, would we?” He sits, eyes narrowing. Weakness - how ironic. You stand and walk to the shelving beside you. “You’ve given me an idea- I’ll see to your care myself. I’m more than capable, obviously, and I’m sure I can work you into my schedule. You are a very important man,” you let yourself be sincere for a moment as a sort of reward for his silence, his allowance of you to continue and lead the discussion. Like throwing him a bone- offering mercy. You doubt he’ll take it, and you don’t really want him to- he’s fun to toy with, to share seething words of ‘praise’ with. But he’s still a person, and if he wants out of that arrangement, you’ll of course let him.

He doesn’t speak for a long time as you gather all the materials necessary. “Thank you very much, Madam Commander. It will be greatly appreciated.”

You try not to freeze- that’s too easy. His voice is too genuine even though you know he isn’t. Even if he were to resign himself to your care, it would not be so- cordial, respectful. Thankful your back is to him, you grin unexpectedly- this isn’t over. He’s continuing it, but he doesn’t feel the need to continue this battle. It’s not a true victory for you, though- more of a draw where you’re slightly ahead of him. “Wonderful!” You spin and offer a bright smile to him, looking your best. You set your things in front of him and crouch. “Sit up, please, sir,”

He seems to be hiding a smirk now, though you’re not sure why, and both of those things (especially simultaneously) irk you. He’s careful to keep his face entirely neutral and you clean the wound, though after several days of neglect, you’re sure it must feel horrible- you’re even impressed. Weak is one thing this man surely isn’t. You shift forward onto your knees as you tend to the wound. By the time you’re finished, your legs are quite sore and his face, though largely unaffected, has gone pale. “Thank you, Madam Commander,”

“Of course,” you say. “I’ve quite missed medical care, it seems. Being a higher up like this-” you curse yourself mentally for letting yourself strike up casual conversation. “It really isn’t my preference.”

“My apologies,” he says, though he doesn’t sound at all callous or cruel, setting you on edge.

“It isn’t your fault, sir. Please stand so I can wrap this- it’s in quite an unfortunate spot,” you say as he stands, really looming over you now. That gleam intensifies. “It’s going to need to be mobile, so nothing adhesive, but if I only wrap it round your shoulders and waist, it won’t stay properly. I’ll need to utilize your groin area as well.” He looks almost shocked, as if you’d said  _ I’m gonna touch your dick _ rather than what you had. He quickly neutralizes his face though, and you carefully wrap the bandages around his body, over his pants. “I will give you an adhesive bandage for the night, though- that should be fine. Do you move much in your sleep?”

“Not a lot,” he says.

“Good. What time do you rise, sir?”

“0600,” he says. Hours earlier than he needs to.

“I’ll be at your door promptly at 0630. If you don’t answer by 0635, I’m coming in, regardless.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, though he sounds ironic.

“Thank you, sir. You are dismissed.”


	3. How Dare I Do What?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Kylo loathes and desires you- and impulsively takes your mouth, something neither of you are sure is entirely consensual.

Kylo returns to his chambers directly after his little summons with you is up, his side in more pain than it had been since he’d gotten the damn thing because of your  _ care _ . He did admit (to himself) he may have underestimated you, but you underestimated him, as well- you were so  _ pleased _ with yourself over your tiny ‘victories’ over him it was almost laughable. You ‘won’ because he hadn’t cared enough to fight at all, though the fact that you thought his taunting of you was any real competition was deeply amusing to him. You were a large fish in an ocean- a shark, perhaps- but he was the entire sea, and he fully intended to swallow you whole.

His favorite part was when you’d tried to make sense of him in terms of the military in order to compare yourself to him- but at least you knew better than to assume you were better than him just because you had a pretty word to call yourself.  _ Madam Commander _ \- how fitting that you liked that. It was, through and through, derogatory, at least coming from him. You think yourself a hot shot, an important figurehead, someone respected and powerful and charismatic- and you were. But none of that mattered around Kylo Ren- you had nothing at all that compared to his strength, his capabilities. Nothing at all he valued, respected, desired.

Well… Not nothing, at least as far as that last category went. You look like a true General in that stupid military garb you always wear, your hair brushed back into a flat bun. If it weren’t for your pretty face or the figure you tried so hard to hide beneath that thick coat, you could almost be mistaken for your brother- minus almost a foot, of course. But your face  _ is _ quite pretty, and though he couldn’t quite discern what exactly your body will look like after he removes those clothes- and, come hell or high water, he  _ will _ remove them- he could tell it’ll be good.

You had managed to shock him with your airy, casual interest in the sight of him naked, the sight of him stripping. You’d looked so entirely indifferent to the act- as a surgeon, you’d definitely seen much more visceral things on much more sensitive body parts- and yet you’d enjoyed the sight of him, the size of him, his muscles and contours. And those thoughts- you’d  _ relish _ to have him in your bed, at your mercy, obedient but only by your gentle force, the easy control you had over most people. Of course, that would never happen- but now he’s determined to see  _ you _ at  _ his _ mercy. He wants to see that hair loose, knotted, sweaty, falling out of its pristine and delicate updo designed specifically to make you beautiful for  _ him _ , only to be ruined by his angry hands. He wants to see your charismatic eyes, controlled expressions, kind smiles replaced with lust and admiration and obscenity- he wants his cum and spit pouring out your willing, desperate mouth. He remembers how you’d looked crouching, kneeling before him as you’d gently- almost  _ reverently _ \- cared to his wound. He could so easily replace the image in his mind with you sucking his cock, fucking your own tits with it, drooling lewdly onto to his cock as you worship it.

He was going to do wonderful, horrible things to you, and he was going to ensure you loved all of it. He’d been with many women before- he’d dominated women before- but you were going to be so different. They were minnows, making eyes at him for months before he deigned to indulge them. You are a shark, and though it would be all too easy to make you bend to his will in the end, he’d enjoy it so much more. He’d relish in the pleasure of turning a shark into nothingness grovelling at his feet, begging to bow down to him. You will be indistinguishable from the minnows after that, and he’ll add you to the growing list of beautiful women he rotates between, ensuring not to let any get too used to his sparse attention. Least of all, you, in fact- you’d worded it yourself best. The rockiest journey always held the greatest disappointment once you reached the destination, and you weren’t going to win yourself any favors that way. It would have been better for you if you just submitted from the beginning- it would have been better if you’d known your place.

And everyone’s place is at the mercy of Kylo Ren.

Groaning and stretching, still annoyed at you for stirring up the pain in his side, he undresses in his bathroom as the water in the shower grows hot. He steps beneath the water and closes the shower door, quickly scrubbing himself clean, entirely unphased by the pain he feels as he moves.

He strokes himself to the thought of your inevitable downfall, determined to last as long with you as he possibly can- what an insult it would be to you if he doesn’t cum when he fucks you. You’re not good enough to make him finish. If he didn’t want to drench you in his filthy fucking seed as much as he did, watch it poor and ooze out of each of your holes like the filthy fucking slut you’ll be for him, he’d ensure he wouldn’t cum at all. But his enjoyment is more important than your downfall- your downfall is only even necessary for his enjoyment. A shark is nothing without an ocean, after all.

His cum bubbles up over the head and foreskin of his cock, and he watches it run over his hand with dissatisfaction. Masturbation hadn’t been enough for him since he was, oh, fifteen, perhaps? He still hadn’t lost his virginity for four more years, drunken at a rather seedy bar. A dancer had recognized him and all but begged him to fuck her, and he had. It had meant nothing then, but it made his jaw tense now.

He regrets it. What a desolate way to feel. Sometimes, he feared she felt the same way- it was the only sort of thought he could genuinely say he ever extended her. He couldn’t picture her face, or hear her voice, or her laugh that constantly sounded. He barely remembered it.

He clears his throat and cleans himself up, wondering only briefly what’s brought that to the surface of his mind. Sleep finds him easily.

It’s just past 0500 when Kylo awakens once more, early enough to grumpily resign himself to another day of consciousness before your arrival. He showers for a long time, deciding to masturbate again- he refuses to finish quickly. It takes an almost unprecedented amount of time to send lazy rivulets onto the sleek tile floor. He’s on his way out when he remembers you’d given him an adhesive to sleep in- you open up the package and crumble them up on top of the garbage can. When he’s done, he lounges tiredly on the sofa, begrudgingly awaiting your arrival.

Rap, rap, rap-rap rap. Your knock comes in a chipper sort of tune, and he flicks the mechanical door open with the Force. You stand there, in that stupid outfit, of course, looking entirely too happy to be awake at 0627 in the morning.

“You’re early,” he says, his voice reprimanding. He’s more annoyed at your presence than he’s been in a while.

“I’m rather eager to take a look,” you say and walk inside, a white plastic bag hanging from a loose fist. “I see you’re prepared- good.”

He glances down at his bare chest- really, he was too lazy to get dressed. He feels even worse than he usually does in the morning. That will no doubt prove inconvenient for you. “Mm.”

You kneel in front of him again, your smothered chest against his knee. You must have it so tightly bound by so many layers that you don’t notice- how improper it would be to press your breasts up against him like that. In a moment he’s smirking at you, too grouchy to care enough to play along today. It obviously unsettles you, and he can hear your first verbal thought of the morning-  _ what is his malfunction? Looking at me like that…  _ You’re huffy and indignant and unsettled, the expression making your skin crawl. Kylo runs a tongue over his top front teeth, watching as you frown at the wound on his stomach. You give him a patient but stern look. “I thought I gave you an adhesive for this, hm?” You tut.

“I scratched it off in the shower,” he responds.

“Ah,” you say in a chipper voice, obviously studying the skin around the wound.  _ That is exactly why your skin shows absolutely no sign of the adhesive _ . You think he’s a bad liar. It’s once again amusing to him that you think he’d care enough to  _ try _ to fool you. You spend a long time cleaning and dressing it, this time leaning in closer than you had before, touching him more. You’re less eager to battle today, more willing to let Kylo’s lies go unchallenged. You think you’re in control, that you’ve gained an upper hand. It makes him smile again, looking down at you. Your delusions are almost adorable. You glance at him again, deeply unsettled- it’s less a smirk he wears this time, and you’re almost more concerned that there’s less malice.  _ By the stars, stop looking at me like that _ . Your mind is almost wistful- you’ve almost started to realize how attracted to him you are, and you’re preemptively perturbed by that. It’s easy enough for him to see- he’s a big, strong, handsome, capable ‘behemoth’ to you, one that feels like a challenge and an adventure. You don’t realize how enticing you find that- or, at least, enticing in what way.

“You look- quite  _ refreshed _ today, Madam Commander,” he says, just to bother you. It’s not enough of a compliment to jeopardize what he has planned for you, but it is enough to make you suck in a gasp through your teeth, almost whistling in the process.

“Why, thank you, Kylo,” you say, then immediately regret calling him by name. You’re beginning to panic.  _ Delicious _ . “I’ve tried a new tea today- a cold one, in the morning. It must be a prudent decision, if I look- refreshed.” You’re trying to be casual, to be polite, and you’re quite the actress. Unfortunately for you, he can see right through you- he knows you’re growing ever more anxious and uncomfortable by the moment. It swells far past what he’d intended.

All he said was that you look refreshed . He almost feels bad for you- almost pities you. Poor thing. He’d hate to know how you react when men dare to  _ flirt _ with you.

He takes the chance to probe further into your mind, risking detection, but you’re just grateful for the distraction as new and different thoughts seize up. When men flirt with you, you raise your brows, amused, and gently let them down. If they don’t get the hint, you become short and concise, almost rude. If they persist, you simply leave. He remembers now- he’s seen it several times- he’d barely been paying attention then- and he’s not entirely sure why you’re so unsettled by him so quickly. You do feel a strange competitive drive around him, but you’re also attracted to him, and it isn’t as if you truly hate him- you simply frequently find yourself annoyed by him. You’ve amused him again- it’s almost impressive how interesting you’ve managed to make yourself to him.

He finds it in your head what you think he thinks of you- that he detests you, which is rather untrue. Of course, before your surprising decision to ask to deal with Kylo about this, he had paid you little attention- and it was true that was largely due to the fact he’d dismissed you as ‘riding coattails’ like you assumed- he didn’t hate you. He wasn’t sure he hated your brother either, so much as he was disgusted by him. It was Hux that hated Kylo- out of jealousy, mostly, and that same expectation of propriety that had been injected into you as well.

Well. You’d look properly well sated after Kylo was done fucking you. Maybe you’d even ease up a bit after a few nice orgasms. It’s a sudden thought- especially considering how little desire you’d elicited upon your arrival- but a welcome one as he looks down and finally notices your hair is in a braid over your shoulder today. You’d look better with your hair down, or at least if the braid was looser, but it is a step up from that plain bun you generally wear. Suddenly he wants to pick you up and sit you in his lap, see what you’d do- whether or not you’d let him, if you’d stop him as his hands would begin to wander beneath your jackets, pushing it aside... He pictures it, eyes closing.  _ K-Kylo, sir _ -!, he imagines you gasping.  _ I d-don’t susp-... Spect th-that this is- oh!- proper besi-i-de… Manners… Oh! _

_ Fuck _ . His cock is threatening to stir in his pants- there’s admittedly a large part of him that wants to see your reaction to that, and as he stares at your face, feeling that you’ve calmed back down (mostly), that devious part wins the short debate. It would just take a few tugs at the base of the braid to loosen it, to send pieces flying- a firm grip on your head as you suckle on his cock would do wonderfully. You’d look up at him the whole time, astonished, concerned, growing ever more lustful and embarrassed as your pussy quakes at the feeling of having your pretty little mouth fucked. He can almost hear your gentle, tentative moans now-  _ hmph, mm, hff, hh _ … He’s fully erect now, but you haven’t noticed yet. Your eyes would roll back eventually, brow furrowing. You’d be almost offended that you like it- you’d be desperate to watch him fuck your tits, mouth agape and waiting for thick pumps of his cum.

As you lean back, finished with his wound, you barely glance at the sizable bulge in his pajama pants. You vaguely wonder how you didn’t notice its size before, but you don’t consider it’s become erect- you’re not even entirely interested in it. He’s almost wounded momentarily by that, but your next words bring the verve back to his determination: “Alright, pants off, please.”

He can’t keep the amused grin off his face, and you turn a sour expression his way, fully and apparently offended. You’re indignant and flustered- _ how dare he?! _ \- but you wrestle an expression of disinterest and mild annoyance onto your face as he rises and pushes his pajamas down. It’s much harder to avoid the reality of his erection in just his underwear, and your mood completely blanks as you stare at it, brow furrowing slightly as the realization reluctantly unravels in your mind. He’s amused again; he slides his thumbs beneath the hem, but that brings you back to life with a small flinch.

“That’s entirely enough,” you say hurriedly. You’re still confused and overwhelmed by the realization, and there’s a panic in your head as it rushes to find something to do with the information. Your hands are quick as you wrap the bandages, and you’re very careful not to let your skin touch his, as if his arousal is contagious. He wonders what you’d do if he pulled your face to his cock right now- so he does. He’s long past the point of modesty now.

He buries his hand into the base of your braid and yanks your head forward, careful not to strike his cock with your face. You gasp, making it all the easier for him to slide your open mouth against him through the fabric of his underwear.

You don’t move. You don’t breathe. He likes that a lot more than he’d have thought- you’re so easy, too easy, and it’s wonderful. He can’t help but laugh softly- such a foolish little girl you are. Your brow furrows then, as if his derisive laugh had reconnected some wires in your head. You groan in indignation and disgust- but it’s forced. You still feel dazed, but there’s still a short circuit in your brain, one that keeps whispering the word yes over and over again. So, he grips your hair tighter and yanks your head back, using the Force to absentmindedly drop his boxers. He won’t force you to do anything- that doesn’t interest him at all- but if you’re just going to kneel there and take it… As he steps out of his disposed underwear and kicks them to the side, you’re finally able to speak- it’s been almost a solid minute now since he’d placed your mouth on his cock.

“What exactly do you think you’re-” But he doesn’t care enough to listen to you unless it’s an explicit no or an explicit yes. Driving his cock straight down your throat. You gag around him, entirely unused to being used like this. How precious.

You cave immediately, shuddering and sobbing with a mixture of fear and arousal as you force your body to relax, puffing your mouth out instinctively and hiding your teeth. He hisses in a surprised delight. Your brow knits as he slips slowly backwards, removing all but the tip of him, then slammed back home. You gag again, your throat closing around him, your muscles moving in a desperate attempt to eject his cock. He grinds your nose into the soft hair at his base, feeling those hot, plentiful tears on his ‘groin area’. “Open your mouth around me,” he commands. Suddenly, you’re glaring hatefully up at him. He stares down at you, waiting for some sort of rejection or acceptance- just to make sure you’re fully aware you can reject him, he pushes the thought into your mind. Your brows furrows and you make a small, frustrated sound around him before- unexpectedly- loosening your mouth around his cock. With a somewhat sadistic grin, he forces your entire body to instantly freeze under the Force, watching the terror enter your pretty eyes, feeling you start to struggle to gasp in breaths around his cock. You whimper as he starts face fucking you again, leaning you forward so you feel off-balance and unstable, ready to collapse- you make so many delightful, horrified, desperate sounds as he fucks you with wild abandon. You’re torn between trying to batter him with your fists to get him off of you and just obeying, giving in. The thought of how hot he tastes keeps being marvelled at in your mind before you dismiss it, but it shakes you to your core each time. He finally releases you and your hands fly to his thighs just to keep yourself stable; you dig your nails into his skin and rotate wildly between wanting to hit him until he stops and feeling utterly aroused. Eventually, you start to lash out at him, clawing and scratching, but his growls and hisses at the pain only arouse you more. You don’t even aim for his wound- you don’t really want to hurt him, or to get away. You just don’t want to feel guilty for letting him fuck you. He likes that thought of you- a desperate little slut needing to be rutted but mortified of that very thing… Poor you. He’d get you there, eventually.

Eventually, you stop scratching, whimpering loudly against his cock- which feels phenomenal- and looking up at him, brow furrowed in anger and indignance and guilt and desire. You’re still clutching at his hips, though, hands covered in the small amount of blood you’ve carved desperately from him, nails coated in it. He buries himself again before pausing. “I won’t tell you again.” It takes you a moment to remember his command- it’s been several minutes, and an eternity for you. With another whimper, you obey, struggling to open your mouth more than it already is- you’re so sore already. “Stick out your tongue.” You do, whining yet again, tentatively stroking his cock with it as if begging for mercy, and he smirks- that’s certainly not going to work. He clenches his fist and just like that, your jaw is frozen in place like that, stretched to its limits. You squeal around him, the sound muffled and garbled by the head of his cock. He tuts at you mockingly, and your voice twists into an infuriated snarl; his cock vibrates and he shudders. The amount you keep switching between relenting and revolting is getting him off a lot faster than if you’d just stuck with one- like you’re struggling to stay afloat above his endless, terrifying sea, your head occasionally slipping under in your growing exhaustion.

The moment he finally breaks you, once and for all, is going to be glorious, and he’s determined to draw it out, push it back, as long and as far as he can.

He pushes you back then, and you sputter and gasp, curling up still on your knees. You’re sobbing then, and once more, he starts to feel a little guilt creep up into his throat. He strokes your hair, and he can feel the mixture of disgust and arousal flood your senses, and you give another great shudder. “How dare you do that to me,” your voice is low, defiant, an out and out threat.  _ I can have his head for this- maybe Supreme Leader might side with him, but everyone on this ship will abide by my order for execution. We’ll lose a few men, definitely. Is it worth it? _ Your anger and hatred is pure and real in that moment, but you’re not actually considering it. He probes your mind with a furrowed brow, trying to ascertain exactly what had happened between the two of you, but he sees that you’re not entirely sure, either.

He’s suddenly not sure how to treat you now.

“How dare I do what?” he asks, using the Force to reluctantly diminish his erection before starting to dress once more.

You sputter furiously at him, and he looks at you, bored. You’re still crying, but the anger overrides the desolate horror threatening to overtake you. You're struggling with yourself just as he’s struggling in his own mind- you know you wanted it, know you listened, know you thought about trying to end it and chose not to. As soon as he notices that horror, though, he plucks it out of you, so you don’t ever have to feel it; it's all a game if he keeps you from really suffering- halfway between roleplay and reality. You, as a person, don’t really matter in this game. You’re just the poor little thing he’s set his sights on, whether you like it or not.

And clearly, in your case, it is very strongly both. “Thank you- I’ll be waiting for you after dinner, Madam Commander.” He’s dressed himself quickly with the clothes he’d sat on the coffee table. He pulls on his helmet and looks down at you- you’re just staring at him now, brow knitted, frowning. You look-  _ taken down a few notches _ , to say the least. You’ve seen you can buzz about him, feeling superior all you want- it means nothing to him. He’ll still do what he wants to you, when he wants to do it. “I trust that you can see yourself out- have a lovely day.”


	4. Enjoyable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein, after a brief reprieve with Armitage, you find yourself alone once more with Kylo Ren, and as conflicted about wanting him or not as he is about whether or not he'll be kind to you.

You truly do not comprehend what exactly happened just moments ago as you sit there, leaning against the couch. The anger and the- stars, it pains you to even  _ think _ it- arousal have subsided, leaving only the uncertainty about it all, and the sheepish confusion you felt about him, and the infuriated outrage you felt towards yourself. How could you have let him do that to you? How could you have  _ enjoyed it _ ?

You see him again, his handsome and grating face watching you as he-  _ defiled _ your mouth, grinning and laughing and presuming to make  _ demands _ of you, as if you were some whore beneath him. And you  _ obeyed _ . Like a whore. Shame floods you and you shudder and pull your knees against your chest.

Never before had you let any man do that to you. Never before had you allowed them to leave your presence without being scalded, or wounded- depending on their,  _ ahem _ , assertiveness- nevertheless, you’d made absolute sure no man would ever leave with any incorrect assumptions about you. You were not a whore, nor a plaything, nor a little girl who could be reckoned with. You’d never have survived that planet if you’d not cared for yourself- or, at least, you’d still be there now, a whore, much like your mother, much like Ari’s.

But you weren’t a whore. You were a strong, capable woman, someone who did not let anyone use or abuse her, someone who had risen through the ranks side by side with her brother, earning her place through her knowledge and skill and determination. And yet, when he fucked your mouth, you’d loved it.

Like a whore.

Dejected, you feel once more like a little girl- a long time ago, before you were desired by men, back when you were at the mercy of only your father. Back then, Armitage was the only one who ever cared enough to stick up for you- you yearn for him now, but you have to clean yourself up before being seen by him- by anyone- and you can’t will yourself to do much of anything at the minute. You’re actually grateful to that  _ monster _ for letting you hide yourself in his chambers until you’re ready instead of ushering you out and leaving you to cry in the hallway- you wouldn’t have gone anywhere, just crumpled into a pile of sobs onto the floor and perished

Eventually, you pull yourself to your feet and find yourself walking into his bathroom. When you look in the mirror, your face is calm and neutral, if a little despondent. The dried tears are the only sign of the occurrence- and your ruined hair. And your bloodied hands. You wash them hurriedly in the sink, then your face, then free your hair and brush through it gently with  _ his _ brush. It’s an offense onto you to use his things, but you can’t very well leave this room looking so shaken.

Much to your surprise, the door opens just as you’re parting your hair to sit down today- you’ve decided your scalp is too sore to try and do anything else with it.

“Ren?” Your brother’s voice says tiredly. “I haven’t got all day to wait around for you- and you’re the one who summoned me.”

You make your way into the main room, looking at your brother’s stern face; he’s a sight for sore eyes. Literally. He looks shocked to see you. “I was cleaning his wound,” you offer as explanation. Your voice is too soft, you sound too broken.

He notices- of course he does. He lived through the aftermath of Father with you. “What in the galaxy-?” he demands, furious.

You somehow force an amused smile. “It’s nothing, Ari. Ren- said… Things. Nothing outright abusive, but it-” you shudder, looking down. “It brought back memories.”

He pulls you almost fiercely to him, holding you tightly, his cheek warm against yours. You cling to him contentedly for a long time, both of you silent, until finally he speaks. “I’ll never let anyone hurt you ever again, my dearest sister.” His voice is gentle and loving.

You disguise a choking sound with a laugh. “I know, sweet brother. You’ve always protected me, even from Father, even when you were just a boy.”

But Father would never have  _ killed _ Armitage. You won’t risk Ren doing anything to your brother. You’d suffer through that every single day before you’d let it affect him.

Your skin prickles at the thought, and you shove it away before you can acknowledge exactly why. You feel so terribly alone, even as you pull back to look at Armitage’s familiar, kind face. A small, boyish smile- the physical manifestation of sheepishly handing a loved one a flower- lights his face, and in a callback to days long gone, he reaches up and taps your nose gently. “Bop,” he says gently, and you close your eyes and smile. You stand on the tips of your toes and he bends down so you can kiss his forehead.

“Mwah,” you say quietly, lips popping. “Let’s get on with our day, then, shall we?”

“Yes, let’s,” he says, turning and offering his elbow, which you happily take.

He doesn’t let you out of his sight all day- something you’re quite grateful for with how often you pass by Kylo Ren. He never speaks, or even acknowledges your presence- you have no clue if it’s purposeful or what he’d do if you’d been alone- but you don’t want to know. You ignore that horrific crawling of your skin, calling it fear. You’d never, ever admit it’s arousal.

That would be the greatest loss, one you’ve never had the misfortune of suffering. Enjoying horrors thrust upon you.

Like a whore.

Dinner comes faster than you’re prepared for, and though Armitage had been planning to eat with you, he’s urgently needed elsewhere and you assure him it’s alright. You eat alone in his office, not prepared to be around so many people in the mess hall but not feeling safe in your own office.  _ He’s _ tainted it with his presence, his threat- and when you don’t show up to his chambers, it’ll be the first place he checks, if he bothers looking for you.

_ Will he? _

Armitage returns eventually, long after dinner. You’re almost surprised it isn’t Kylo- your relief is mixed with a pang of- something- but you’re growing better at entirely ignoring your own reaction in favor of acting as if you only react the way you want to. Eventually, he sees you off to your chambers.

“I can stay, if you’d like,” Armitage offers, holding your hand discreetly.

“No, thank you,” you say, kissing his cheek. “I’m not a toddler. I can manage to get a night’s sleep by my lonesome, every once in a while.”

“By your lonesome, every once in a while?” he asks, brows cocking. “Do I have to install cameras outside your door, young lady?”

You laugh amusedly, though you begin to feel ill at his implication. “No, sir.”

“Goodnight,” he says gently, squeezing your hand.

“Goodnight,” you respond, then retreat into your chambers.

You hate how much they resemble Kylo’s. It’s like you’ve walked back into a decimited but calm battlefield after a horrific war. You close your eyes and suddenly- that dread, that ever familiar feeling, is gone.

“You must have forgotten about me,” It’s Kylo’s voice, and you jump, gasping audibly as your eyes snap open. He’s leaning on the door jam leading to your bedroom, shirtless- there’s something in his hand. He looks so casual, as if this is his house- or his girlfriend’s, perhaps, judging by the almost beckoning stance he’s in. He quirks a brow as he studies you silently- you’re staring at what he’s holding. Is that-? “Your negligee,” he offers, holding it out to you. How did he-? “I know that outfit must not be very comfortable. You should put this on before attending to me.”

_ Attending to him. _ You want to spit on his face. You raise your chin in defiance. “I’m sure I can find something much more acceptable to wear than that.”

You frown inwardly at yourself, having expected something more along the lines of-  _ get the fuck out of my chambers _ or perhaps a less uncouth  _ you dare come here and expect me to  _ help _ you? _

He tilts his head to the sign, feigning interest, but his eyes are harsh and strict. “I don’t think so,” his tone almost sounds like a question. He holds it out to you. “Here.” You stare at it for a long time, and he takes several steps towards you. You suddenly throw yourself back against the large mechanical door, breathing hard. He pauses, still easily half a meter away, and studies you.

You struggle to find the button to release the door- as he hurries towards you with renewed vigor, you spin, lunging for it- he catches your wrist and holds you tightly, putting both your hands directly in front of you. Your struggle to get free is one fluid, slow motion, but it’s useless. You’re not terrified, you’re not aroused, you’re just- moving, as if you’re just thoughtlessly existing as you wait for- something. His breath tickles your ear through your hair. “Stop it.” His voice isn’t cruel or commanding, but it doesn’t matter- you freeze, though you’re still tense. He’s bid you to stop while you’re slightly bent, and as his body has been molded to you- he’s bent over you, still holding you. If someone were here to see it, it would look romantic.

You’re grateful that no one’s here to make  _ that _ incorrect assumption.

“You’re not going anywhere, are you?” His voice is smooth and quiet and casual. Almost abruptly, you’re made aware of the fact that he’ll let you go. Grabbing you was- a fluke, an accident. He’ll let you go- he’ll leave, even.

“No,” you breathe, brow furrowing at your thoughts.

“No- of course you’re not.” He pulls back, but you realize he’s left the lingerie in your hand. “Go on, then- get dressed.”

You stand there, in between him and the door, not facing him, not moving, not thinking. Your arms drop and you straighten- after a moment, you just let go of the negligee. What’s he going to do about it?

He catches it easily, setting it on the arm of the couch. He turns you around and your face is centimeters from his big, dumb chest. You want to punch him as hard as you can, over and over again, but your body has decided it would rather be limp. You feel water logged. He starts slipping open your coat, and you just- let him, defeated. No- it’s not a defeat if you don’t fight. That’s what you keep whispering to yourself inside your head. You can’t lose if you don’t try. He smiles at your face. “Your hair looks nice down,” he tells you. “You’re going to wear it like that more often.”

Who is he to-?

He leans dangerously close in, his grip on your coat tighter, lifting you onto your tippy toes, and suddenly this interaction feels a lot more predatory. Your breath catches as you feel heat waft through your body, settling mostly in your cheeks and, humiliatingly, your stomach. “Am I understood?”

“Yes,” you say before you know what you’re doing. He releases you, continuing to undress you. Once the coat is off, he begins with the vest beneath, then the button-down shirt you wear. Panic is flooding you, mixed with an undeniable lust your brain refuses to process, and you feel dizzy. He leaves your plain brasier alone in favor of picking up one of your legs, making you lean back against the door. He disposes of your boot, your stocking, tugging it out from under your trousers, then he repeats it with the other leg. He undoes the button of your slacks and watches them fall off you. He literally picks you up by your waist, as if you weigh nothing at all, and kicks them haphazardly to the side before setting you down once more. He glances at your plain, loose briefs, wrinkled around your body. He steps back to appraise you, and finally, you find yourself capable of moving- only to hug your stomach in a weak attempt to hide yourself. Your underwear is plain and covering enough that you almost don’t feel the need to cover your chest.

He gives you a look-  _ really _ ? Does he  _ need _ to tell you to drop your hands? You don’t move, so he grabs your wrists and yanks- but the rest of you tumbles forward. He’s unprepared for it, expecting you to have braced yourself, but he still doesn’t waver as your body lands against his. He’s almost laughing at you- he’s pitying you, you can see it in his eyes. But what for? You’re indifferent, you tell yourself. You’re indifferent to this.

He drops your arms and they fall limp to your side. He seems annoyed now- good. He’s getting no satisfaction anymore, and he shouldn’t. He steps back once more. “You’ve got two options.” You raise both of your brows suddenly, and you’re starting to come back into control of yourself- you stand tall and raise your chin, waiting for him to continue. “Take those off for me or you’re going to spend your night stuck, tied up, in your bed, in one perpetual orgasm.” Your brain glitches at that second option. Is that meant to be  _ bad _ ? He’s said it like it’s a warning- and true, you certainly don’t want him to do that to you- but you’d heard that climax felt pleasant? Your brow twitches a bit in confusion as a frown settles over your face. He takes a predatory step forward, eyes narrowing a bit. “Perhaps you need- a sample. Something to go off of.”

“I-” before you can speak, your wrists are wrapping painfully around your abdomen, stopping at your back, pressing your breasts up and together. You’re crouched over, ankles crossed, and your balance is entirely dependent once more on the Force, the power he has over you. Your head is wrenched back so he can peer down at your bosom. There’s a sudden pleasant pressure in your core, but before anything more can happen- “Please,” you hiss quickly, desperately. “I’ll listen, I’ll- I’ll do what you say.”

Everything pauses, though your core is alight now. His head tilts to the side. “Will you?”

“Yes,” you say gently.

“Do you want to?” His eyes grow slightly softer now, and he’s reminiscent of that strange thought you’d had after he grabbed you- like he’d gone too far, like he needed to assure himself you were willing.

“Yes,” you gasp, and your mind melts around you as your body shudders. You don’t think about it. You can’t. You won’t.

You’re released, and you fall onto your butt. He offers his hand and you reluctantly take it, letting him help you stand. “I knew you’d be flexible.”

It’s a sucker punch, and he knows it; he grins at your dejected, dour expression as you shove your underwear down joylessly, stepping out of them. Your hair hides you from his sight, but it’s still humiliating to be seen. You tug your bra over your head rather than bother with the hooks, dropping it. Your breasts are on display now, and you have to fight not to cover them. He appraises you again, looking smug.

“Turn around,” he urges, and gritting your teeth, you do. He lets out a noise of approval, as if he didn’t expect you to look so good. You try to keep your anger in check, but it’s quickly threatening to boil over and get you in stars know what kind of situation. He tugs your hips backwards into his, and for a moment, you’re almost surprised he isn’t fucking you already. “That’s  _ much _ better,” he says, voice dripping with approval.

“Is it?”

His hand clenches down on one hip almost threateningly. “Yes. I can see you now- no more hiding behind your useless position, no more hiding how much of a wet little slut you are beneath it.”

“My position is-” you begin, snarling. How dare he? You are commander of this ship-

“Currently, very well suited to you,” he says, grinding his hips forward.

You finally have the willpower to lunge for the button again, but he grabs you, holding you just like before- this time, you’re feral in your attempts at escape, but it makes no difference. He’s so much larger than you, stronger than you. You feel his erection against you, mocking you. No matter what you do, it’s just going to turn him on more. And- like the  _ whore _ you truly are- it turns you on as well, to struggle and wrestle against him, to try desperately to break free only to feel him wrench you back into place beneath him.

He is a filthy fucking  _ swine _ .

He laughs heartily, amused by something, then easily throws you backwards onto the floor. You try to stand but he steps on you- harsh on your stomach, making you gasp in pain, then lightly on your throat. You freeze, stilling, almost willing yourself to melt into the floor. One step and you’re dead- he’s too heavy, hundreds of pounds of pure muscle. It’d be all too easy for him. Your core has the  _ audacity _ to throb at that, and as if he knows, he laughs again, sounding almost surprised. “Be careful, little slut,” he says, and you scowl up at him. “I could arrange a little something- a  _ treat _ \- for an insult like that.” Insult? You haven’t spoken for a long while, and you hadn’t insulted him. “Actual swine cum, being pumped into all three holes, all at once. I’m sure that’d be too much for you to handle- poor little thing,”

_ Swine _ \- he can hear your thoughts? You turn paler than you ever have in the world, and a wicked grin almost unbefitting of him overtakes his face, a brow cocking.

This is it. You’re dying- no, you must already be in hell. The mortification you feel is too much, and you don’t even know how to react to that new bit of information. Instead, you just close your eyes, trying to make peace with the humiliation, the horror. “Poor, poor thing,” he tuts gently, almost sincerely. You feel him crouch above you, the weight on your throat changing but never faltering. He strokes your cheek. “So pretty you look, resigning yourself to your fate on the floor.”

You open your eyes then, seeing him look almost disappointed. Before you can think anything at all, you spit on him. He’s awash with shock for a moment- then, he wipes the spit off, looking down at his gloves. You’re still, your heart thundering as you stare at him, refusing to regret it but incapable of feeling smug, just feeling like a wild, cornered animal, suspended in between the urge to fight and the urge to fuck. He wipes it carelessly into his trousers. “You’ll pay for that- but that’s more like it.” You can’t speak, though your mouth opens. He stands then and picks up the negligee. “If you don’t put this on-”

“Give it to me,” you hiss before he can threaten you again. He smiles as he does so, then watches as you unceremoniously tug it on. It’s the only lingerie you own, and it’s just a shapeless expanse meant to feel pleasant and cool against your skin as you sleep- it isn’t exactly meant to look good. The fabric is black lace, and it extends from your clavicle to your knees, suspended by two thin straps.

“There we are,” he says. “Finally. You can get started now.”

You refuse to kneel in front of him again; before he can sit, you’re next to him, ripping the bandages off so he has no need to take his trousers off, discarding them. You’re quicker than you ought to be, but you want him gone as soon as possible. You should have just thrown the damn dress on and gotten this over with from the beginning.

“Something we can agree on, finally,” he says. You clench your jaw- you’re still not used to the fact he can hear you, but your mind seems unwilling to filter itself- incapable, perhaps. You’ve spent your whole life perfecting your poker face, maintaining appearances, but never once had you felt the need to control your thoughts. If you were going to be able to learn, it wouldn’t be like this, with him looming over you. “Smart,” he says. “It’s too bad- I’ve always enjoyed watching people struggle to resist my ability,”

“You don’t deserve enjoyment,” you dare to hiss. “Least of all from me.”

He laughs again, amused. “You’re the most enjoyable person I’ve ever met,” he says genuinely, and it irks you. You clench your jaw and lean angrily into the wound. He hisses and his hand finds your throat and thrusts you backwards, away from him, hand clenching around you. You chortle, but do your best to look only furious and righteous as you scowl at him, rather than paying any mind to your core as it throbs again. He finishes dressing the wound himself, still half strangling you the entire time. “Just when I thought you were going to wise up, too,” he comments offhandedly. Suddenly, he’s lifted you in the air by your throat, and it’s a much worse, much more painful experience. He carries you to the bedroom, towards your mirror, and sets you down, pulling your back against him. He’s still choking you, but through your tears you can see your red, strained face, the veins rising, your agape mouth coughing. Panic is rising in you, but it and the ever growing arousal are muted by the hazy feeling caused by an insufficient supply of oxygen to your brain. He shuffles you closer to the mirror, and you look at his calm face, nothing more than a vague interest upon it.

Panicked and unsure and so utterly at his mercy, you can’t help but wonder what in the stars he’s doing.


	5. Can You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Kylo Ren finally takes you, and you finally break.

“Do you see that little slut standing there?” His voice sounds after you’ve both studied each of your faces for a long time, and his grip on your throat has made your head a little hazy.

You try to say yes, but you can’t- he squeezes harder around you, indicating you’re not meant to speak, so you nod with much difficulty.

“She’s in a lot of pain, isn’t she?”

Another nod. Your hands finally move to his wrist, grabbing at him, but you can’t feel your fingers anymore-  _ don’t hurt him _ , you manage to think as your mind fades.  _ Don’t anger him _ . He releases for a moment and you take several gasps of air, your vision returning to normal, save for the tears. You see that look in his eyes again, searching for reassurance once more. “She’s gonna start listening, isn’t she?”

You nod again. Seemingly sated, he leans in closer, his face next to yours. You look at the two of you in the mirror, your naked body visible through the sheer fabric, bent into him, his erection firmly ground into your arse, his hot look of arousal beside your wide-eyed and sheepish gaze, mouth agape as your brain struggles to return to normal. You look like two lovers about to shag. You look like a shy little sweetheart hungry for her lover’s cock. He looks like a man starved with a beautiful little mistress just waiting to be pounded. It’s unreal, and the image burns itself into your brain.

“She can be defiant all she likes, hate it with every last drop of herself. She can be afraid, she can beg for mercy. But she’s going to do every single thing I tell her to, instantly. And she’s going to stop trying to run away- isn’t she?”

You nod, and he shakes you a bit, squeezing your throat again and watching as you choke for a long minute, gripping his wrist again..

“I can’t hear you, slut.”

“Yes,” you grind out, but the pathetic sound is unfamiliar as your own voice. He releases your throat and you collapse onto his feet, leaning into his legs for support. Your throat is angry red, your face tinted purple, your eyes bloodshot. You look- horrible. And much like a whore. But then you see his hand twitch and its all gone, even the pain, even the disgust you feel with yourself. You’re almost inclined to thank him, but you can’t bring yourself to.

“Good girl,” he praises you. “It’s only a matter of time.”

“Please,” you whisper. “Just get it over with.”

He looks at you for a long moment in the mirror, and you feel some faint digging around in your head that you can’t be bothered to pay attention to. “Get up- unless you’re in the mood to have your little mouth-pussy fucked again.”

You’re very much not, you tell yourself. Turning crimson at his lewd words, you try to stand, but you stumble. He catches you and helps you up, then holds you, arms around your waist. He brushes your hair to one shoulder and kisses the other gently. Looking at the reflection- again, it’s some emotionless caricature of intimacy, like your feeble facade of trying to escape this morning. “You were so good at that, baby,” he tells you, kissing up your throat to your jaw and all the way back down again. “You must have been made to be fucked like that.”

You hate that his words stir that familiar dancing in the pit of your stomach. The memory of that- the dazed feeling as you’d sort of… Faded away, in and out of bliss, as he’d slammed in and out of your mouth and frozen your body with that impossible, mystical Force… Your body starts to crave it. You’re still too shaken to be furious at him or even disgusted by yourself, and he smiles against your skin before flicking his tongue up to your ear. Your whole body shudders at the new sensation, bolts of electricity making you squirm in his strong arms. He attacks your ear with his tongue, and you can’t help but moan and whimper, breath shaking. He takes your earlobe in his mouth, suckles on it, bites it gently. Your hips swivel awkwardly, unsure how to move but desperate for-

Something unspeakable, unthinkable. You refuse the knowledge, though you already have it. You can’t accept it- you won’t. Even as your heart and your clit thunder with delight, and he moves your hair to suckle and kiss and bite on your skin, giving low groans and growls of approval, even as you press back into him, greedy to feel his big, hard body on yours, you ignore it, you try to pretend that you hate it.

But you don’t. It keeps being whispered in your head, but you ignore it. You focus on the shrinking refusal of his advances in your mind. You have to- it’s the only way you won’t absolutely lose your sanity.

He pushes your negligee up slowly, groping your thighs, letting it fall back down, groping your hips- the fabric only makes the core of you hungrier. You’re twitching and squirming for him, your body looking lewd and almost uncharacteristically feminine in the mirror. You’ve never considered yourself ‘sexy’- not even pretty- but you’re taken with that image of you for a moment. The image of that whore grinding into him and trying to convince you that you want to be fucked. “Yes,” he growls in a deep voice, dripping with hungry approval. “Such a good girl. You’re so much easier than I’d anticipated- to think I thought you’d be difficult.” He leaves a hickey on your throat as you hazily think  _ I am difficult _ in protest. He laughs at you again. “You’re just another desperate slut- what do you need?”

_ More _ , the whore whispers-  _ no _ ! Your brain is fighting itself, and you squeeze your eyes shut. He thrusts against you, making you squeal, making you bounce back against him. Again, it’s like a shock to your system that he’s not buried inside of you already.

“Mmm,” he says. His voice makes you want him even more, deep and low and taunting. “That’s what you want? To be impaled on my cock?”

“No,” you gasp, and you swear he loosens up his grip, pulls away slightly. It’s a lose-lose situation for you and a win-win for him- if he fucks you, you’re weak. If he doesn’t, you’ll yearn for him. If he fucks you, he wins - he’s had you, and he’ll dispose of you. If he doesn’t, the game continues- he gets to watch you struggle to resist even longer. He laughs heartily- and, yes, he’s leaned away, given you space.

“Being a slut doesn’t make you weak,” he tells you. “It just means you like it when big, strong men fucking obliterate your dripping cunt.” He slams your core directly into his erection, and a starburst of pleasure dances from the point of contact. You’re ashamed to realize how enticing his words are-  _ yes… Just give in _ .  _ Just be his slut- be a drooling little whore for him _ . His eyes grow dark as they meet yours in the mirror, and you anticipate a blow before it even lands;. “Being  _ my _ slut makes you weak; you can’t even resist a man you hate, a man who  _ defiled _ you, a man who loathes you. You’re not really a slut- you’re just a sad little prude who needs  _ me _ ,”

Tears sting your eyes- that doesn’t arouse you, or anger you, it just stings. In his eyes you see that was not the intention- and in moments, all of the sadness has gone. You know now it’s been him removing whatever he hasn’t wanted you to feel. He pulls you against him and strokes your side tenderly in some sick show of comfort, nuzzling into you, but he keeps his eyes trained on your face as if waiting for the first sign that you want him off of you, that you want him gone.

But it doesn’t come, and he doesn’t let you go. Because you don’t want him off of you, and you hate yourself for it. He would let you go. You’re the one perpetuating this. It’s all your fault.

You’re a whore. You’re his whore, and he’s right- you’re weak. You’re helpless. He’s got you right where he wants you, and he’s going to keep doing whatever he wants to you because you want him to. You can’t find the will to fight, and your body is still desperate for him. You let your head fall limp on his shoulder. “ _ Please _ ,” you beg. “Just- do whatever you’re going to do to me already.”

Maybe it’s a reward for letting him ravage you. Maybe it’s a reward for liking it. Maybe it’s an apology for making you sad- whatever it is, he’s slipped his erection free in moments, and now he’s coating himself in your slick folds, negligee resting over your arse. You groan at the pleasant sensation being dragged throughout your body. “Hold this,” he says, indicating the hem of your negligee. You do, arms tucked up by your breasts like a child clutching her blanket, your breasts squished slightly, nipples half hidden by your arms. It’s a sight- you’re a sight. He hums in approval. “You’re a virgin,” he assesses quietly.

“Yes.” If he fucks you now, your first time will be conflicted, and angry, and pained, and full of shame and horror and regret. Is he really going to do that to you?  _ Even as you want it _ , the whore adds.

“Yes,” he whispers in your ear, then runs his tongue alongside the shell. You shutter at the brutality in his voice, in such stark juxtaposition to the tender ministration he follows it with. “You forget I’m in your head- I know you like it. I know you want me to hurt you- break you, ruin you. I hear those whispered, filthy things you’re ignoring.”

“No,” you all but sob. He’s gently prodding at your entrance with his behemoth cock, your hymen and his sheer size working in tandem as the only things keeping him from robbing you of your long protected innocence.

Many times was Armitage beaten by Father in order to keep that tiny bit of flesh intact.

It’s enough of a thought to make you pull away, every ounce of arousal squandered by that memory, and he lets you go but plucks that thought from you, too. You can’t pretend you’re not grateful to not think about that. You can’t pretend it’s preferable to feeling yourself be desperate to be fucked by Kylo Ren. He puts you right back where you were, and those thoughts are growing ever more insistent, spurred on by his attention to them and his hands stroking your body again, his lips lavishing your neck again, his cock taunting your entrance again. “Please,” you beg, unaware what for. “Please, Kylo. Please.”

He closes his eyes and thrusts forward, another plea dying in your throat as his cockhead settles against your cervix- you might be too tight, he might be too big, but your freely pouring juices and his sheer strength are enough to completely embed him inside of you in less than a single second. Your mouth is agape and and your eyes are closed, your brow knitted, as you suck in a deep and jagged breath. The friction sends shockwaves through your unexplored walls, and his massive cock stretches you to your absolute limit, not feeling truly painful but just very intensely open, very intensely invaded.

This is it. He’s fucking you now. Your virginity belongs to Kylo Ren forevermore- he’s stolen it from you, and he couldn’t give it back if he tried. And he most certainly wouldn’t. He does, however, give you time to adjust to him, your walls taking their time to figure out how to handle it. The pain that trickles in is nothing compared to the intense pressure of being full, of being fucked, of being- bred . It’s an instinctive enjoyment you can’t begin to resist- he’s worked you up to this too well. In fact, other than the slightly panicked sense that this is far too big to ever be considered to be something that could ever belong here, it doesn’t really hurt at all. Your body can’t even have the decency to hate this. He pulls back only to drive himself home once more. His face mostly looks calm, but there’s a heavy air to him- he’s as enthralled by this as you are. “I wonder how long it’ll take to make you sweet for me, as well as submissive?”

“I’m not- either of those things,” you protest as he grows ever faster. You have to argue now- soon, you won’t be able to. “Nor will I-” you gasp as he strikes something within you. “-Ever be.” Your shaky voice trails off into a whimper.

“Oh- right,” he says. “I forgot. You don’t know how to quite while you’re behind, do you?”

“Just shut up and finish,” you hiss.

He laughs at you. You hate the sound, you lie to yourself. As he fucks you ruthlessly, any ounce of the care he offered by waiting for you long gone, it gets harder and harder to think, to breathe, to argue with yourself that _ no, we totally hate his and Kylo Ren and everything that’s happening _ . It’s harder to stay angry, to stay spiteful. You’re bouncing forward as he slams himself into your cervix and into that spot, only to be yanked back by his unforgiving grip on your hips. He shakes his hands every once in a while and watches your hips, your thighs, your arse shake in response, a lustful expression overwhelming him and each time, his cock throbbing inside of your hungry, delighted cunt. He only glances at your bouncing breasts occasionally- he’s trying to make this last. Pretty soon, your brain shuts off entirely and all you can think about, focus on, is the movement of your body as he uses it, the soft, desperate moans ejecting themselves from your agape lips, the lewd sight of you bouncing on his cock, the slap of his balls against you, the grunts and huffs he offers periodically. He looks so focused and intent in the mirror, his hair bouncing. He makes eye contact with you for a long moment, and instead of grinning and mocking like you’re half expecting- instead of feeding your quickly fading anger and indignance- he leans over you a bit and resumes kissing you, licking you, never once breaking eye contact. Closer like this, he isn’t pulling out as far, but his thrusts are harder. He’s quickly perfected how to slide against that damnable sweet spot he keeps driving crazy. He’s so handsome- an Adonic sculpture of a man, big and broad and strong, with sharp, masculine features and intoxicating dark eyes. He’s damp with perspiration and his face is alight with determination and hunger, for  _ you _ . You melt against him.

You’re done, at least for now. Your head collapses over his shoulder again and your hips can no longer stop themselves from thrusting back to meet his, and pulling back farther- his lips leave your skin in favor of fucking you harder, and you find yourself bent over more, making him feel like he’s even bigger, even deeper inside of you. Your noises have grown more obscene, sometimes letting out a drawn out and absolutely degenerate whine or a shaky whimper that sounds whorish and foreign to you. You’re fucking yourself on his cock just as much as he’s fucking you now.  _ I am a slut I am a slut I am a slut _ , your brain is chanting.

“Such a good girl,” he taunts, reaching one hand in front of to play with your cunt- something hitherto undreamt of. Your strangled noise is another foreign sound; your head whips forward and your hair flips about. “You can cum anytime, as long as you keep that up.”

“No,” you protest, the sound needy. Somehow, you’ve had two synapses fire again to bring sense back into your brain. The whore within you pouts.

“Mmm-  _ yes _ ,” he argues. You can’t believe the spasming pleasure as your cunt throbs and contracts for him, trying to milk an orgasm from the  _ monolith _ he’s railing you with. He laughs. “You’re staunch propriety sounds so good repurposed like this- I’m almost not annoyed at words like monolith and behemoth when you’re describing how much you love to get fucked by my cock,”

“Hate you,” you gasp. He smiles devilishly at you.

“That’s fine, sweetheart. How does your pussy feel about me?”  _ My pussy  _ loves _ you _ , you think, face twisting in rage as he laughs mockingly. It feels like it’s been ripped open to be ten miles wide, though it’s contracting around him, only hurting worse. You grow ever more sore as he rails into you. “That’s damned fucking right,” he says, then yanks your head back by your hair. You gasp and he grabs your jaw instead. You’re scowling up at him. “Stick out your tongue,” he demands, and remembering his little snuff scene from earlier, you do. He spits in your mouth and on your face over and over again, all the while still fucking you and bringing desperate, lewd moans from you. He smears the spit around your face and all but throws your head forward to stare at your own strange reflection- you don’t even recognize her as yourself anymore. That’s not a calm, collected Commander, nor a dutiful and kind surgeon. That’s an unabashed cum dumpster smeared with the spit of a vile, repugnant monster. “Oooh,” he laughs out, grinning. “Good girl.”

He does something- it had to be the Force- and your body is sent spiralling off a cliff you’d been on the precipice of since he’d touched your clitoris for the first time- a cliff you’d never have dreamed existed. You cry out in song and thrust sporadically backwards, desperate to have as much friction as you can as you bask in a sea of pure, unadulterated pleasure. White hotspots dance in your eyes- you’re chanting the word yes over and over again. You eventually come down, your cunt even happier to be pounded by him. You’re still gleefully impaling yourself on him, already chasing that high again.

He stops moving, but you keep going; you have to drop your dress and grab hold of the wall to support yourself now that he’s making you work for it. Back and forth you rock, but you just can’t move like he can- you don’t know how he twisted his hips to please you, or how he knew that precious rhythm. You found yourself whimpering in desperation and confusion as your body screams at you to _ just make it good again _ . “Do you need help?” He’s  _ generous _ enough to offer.

But your stupid stubbornness won’t let you. You’re utterly broken, your thoughts twisted, and you’ve forgotten what you’re railing against and what you want. “No,” you say, still fucking yourself on him. Poorly.

He tsks at you. “You’re going to have to beg if you want my help now.”

“I want you out of me,” you argue. The desperation in you is still very heavily there, but it silences, angry at you.

“Do you?”

“Yes,”

“Take me out of you, then.”

You don’t, just keep fucking yourself with him. His cock isn’t throbbing anymore- you don’t even feel good to him. It wounds you- but since you’ve caused this one yourself, he doesn’t close it for you. You whimper, missing the feel of him breeding you. “You’re vile,” you gasp. Your voice is angry and hurt.

“Am I?”

“Yes.” You’re both silent as you continue to make a fool out of yourself for a few long moments.

“Tell me you want me,” he says.

“No,”

“You do want me,”

“No!”

“Then why are you riding me?”

“I’m not,” you whimper. It’s so plainly not true. You’re so far behind already-  _ give in _ . Maybe he’ll pity you enough to make you cum again. It makes your hips twitch with need. “I don’t need your fucking pity!” You roar.

He wraps his arms around you and you collapse within them; so big, so strong, so warm. You’re not moving now- it’s not like you were doing much of anything for either one of you, anyway- and it’s a large improvement for your enjoyment, sitting there with his still-hard cock sheathed in you. You pant, your arms and thighs sore.“You’re going to start sizzling out soon,” he tells you. “You’ll be empty and dissatisfied until you can get horny again- and it’ll be a lot harder.”

You’re staring at your reflection in the mirror. You can feel it in your chest, but there’s still time yet to fix it. You stare into his gentle eyes, and you melt, head falling limp. You concede. You can’t speak, but your mind shatters into a million pieces. You’re wordlessly begging him to accept that, to take that as enough… But he doesn’t. “Beg.”

“I don’t know how,” you whimper sadly, feeling a hot tear fall. Humiliation blossoms once more as you realize how spectacularly you’ve lost- how long you’ve dragged this out to be. You could be asleep, fully sated, by now. Instead- you’re miserable.

“It’s okay, baby,” he coos, nudging your face to the side so he can pepper you with kisses. “You can’t embarrass yourself any more than you already have, anyway,”

He really isn’t going to make this easy for you. You straighten, looking at yourself in the mirror, and his arms fall to your hips again- the look in your eyes seems to think you’re going to flail on his cock again, and he’s prepared to retract his previous sentiment. You can’t help but laugh weakly at yourself. “Fuck me,” you whimper, the sound barely audible. He hears you- he looks a lot less disappointed in you- but it isn’t enough. He said  _ beg _ , not ask. Your eyes squeeze shut as more hot tears fall, and you wish he was holding you again- that'd make it easier. He indulges you, much to your surprise, his skin arm against your breasts. “Please, Kylo,” you say, grinding back into him, trying to keep that ever fading buzz. “I need you to fuck me- ruin my cunt, make me cream myself on you again. Use me- use my slutty body for your own end,” your voice is unsure, shaky. You can’t imagine you’re very compelling in your sexual appeal.

But, apparently, it's enough. He takes over again, stirring your barely-settled insides once more with his mighty cock. He's being sweet again, peppering you with kisses and eyeing you hungrily. His hands find your breasts and knead them, teasing your nipples eagerly. He continues on like that for a long blissful moment before reaching one hand down to play with that nub again- you shudder and sink grateful into him. “Yes- yes, yes,” you whisper again. “Yes,”

“Where are your manners, slut?” he hisses pleasantly into your skin. “Shouldn’t you thank me for making you feel so good?”

You’re broken now, and utterly his. “Thank you,” you gush. “Thank you so much- yes, yes. Ohhh, yes- please! Please make me- make me cum again,”

“Not until I cum with you,” he growls. “You’d better not cum until I say so. Understand?”

“Yes,” you whimper. You’re shaking again, hips uselessly throwing themselves backwards again. His thrusts are too strong to let them throw off his rhythm, and you’re more than grateful for that.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Fuck.”

“Do you like it, too?” you beg, in need of validation. You feel so useless and dumb- it’s kind of hot, but you need to know he likes it.

“Yes, baby,” he assures you, amused. “I love your filthy fucking cunt. So small and tight and- fuck, you’re so good at clamping down on me… You want me to pump you full, whore?”

“Yes,” you beg. “Please- please .”

“I’m sure you do,” he growls. “I fucking know it.”

“Fill me up with your seed,” you plead. “Fucking paint me with your cum.” He growls his approval, flicking your oversensitive little bud with renewed vigor.

“Are you ready, baby?”

“Yes!” All you need is his permission and you’ll explode for him again. You can almost hear his sexy, commanding voice as he finally lets you cum again, releasing his load inside of your now soiled pussy.

You feel it before he says it, like his cock is getting even thicker. “Cum, you stupid fucking loser.”

You let loose on him as his hot seed spills out into you, and he leans into you and grinds against you. You swear he rips right past your cervix into your womb, pumping you full, breeding you . You practically black out as the intense pleasure ravages your body once more, violently shuddering into his arms, but he holds you tight.

When you come to again, he swivels you over and gently tosses you onto the bed. You just- lay there, as you fall, still twitching and whimpering. You watch him as he recovers for a moment, then studies you. You can feel his seed threaten to trickle out of you- how obscene. His eyes are fierce and he seems almost unsure of himself. “Do you want me to stay?”

_ Stay _ ? You hadn’t even considered that. You imagine him holding you silently- maybe stroking your cheek, maybe stirring around the remnants of his claim on you… You swallow.

Can you admit to it, though? Even after all that, will your  _ yes _ die in your throat? His lack of movement makes it clear you’ll have to speak to get him to stay.

_ Can you? _


	6. What Do You Want From Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein you and Kylo briefly grapple with the aftermath of your, ahem, 'lovemaking'.

No. You can’t.

You open your mouth with the intention of saying yes, but it simply doesn’t happen. You’re looking pleadingly up at him, but he seems without mercy now.

“Do you want me to stay?” he asks again, quieter this time. He’s disappointed in you again, and it leaves a wound. You can’t even bring yourself to be bothered by that- but you can’t bring yourself to answer, either. You reach out and grab his hand in yours, holding it. He’s still wearing his gloves, so you tug it off and press your palms together. He crouches in front of you, looking into your eyes. “What are expecting to come from this?”

You’re not expecting anything. He nods- you hadn’t intended that as an official answer, but alright- and studies you. You can feel his seed inch out of you, tickling your oversensitive flesh. You roll onto your back, still holding his hand, then set it on your stomach. His skin is hot and soft, and your body- spent as it is- sings at the contact.

“I’m not going to wait for an answer forever,” he tells you, but you can’t even bring yourself to open your mouth.  _ We don’t have to talk _ , you plead mentally with him-  _ we can bask in the silence, in the _ -

But he turns and walks away, letting your hand drop. Your desperation skyrockets, watching him move away from you. “Teach me,” you say suddenly. He pauses.

“Teach you what?”

“How to- what to… What it is,” you say. You don’t think you remember how to speak. You’re so tired, mentally exhausted… You’re begging him to see that. He walks back and strokes your cheek. Your eyes close and you lean into the contact, feel the pad of his thumb as it caresses you.

“Yes, or no,” he says softly. “Do you want me to stay?”

“Ye-” it’s hard to get half of the word out, though you’re basking in his touch. None of this makes sense to you- his advances, your reactions, the juxtaposition of his weird demanding and strange tenderness. “Yes.” You finally manage.

He looks half annoyed and half amused that it had taken so long. “Alright,” he undresses and lays beside you, holding you.

“Teach me,” you whimper again. You’re determined now.

“Whatever you’re asking for, ask for it tomorrow. We both have jobs to do in the morning.”

You’d try to argue but his warmth- and your overall exhaustion- is overwhelming you. You blink several times as he begins to play with your hair gently, gently teasing your back with his fingertips. It feels just right to lay there with his seed dripping from you, his big, strong arms around you…

You wake up alone and strangely sore- you blink up at the ceiling for a few moments of drowsy confusion, wondering why your core feels like a wet slab of happiness and your brain is stuck somewhere between a quiet, demure contentedness and a painfully bruised ego.

It all comes back to you the moment before it comes into focus that the shower’s running- Kylo must be in it. Do you call him Kylo? What are you  _ doing _ ? You sit up and look at yourself in the mirror, absolutely horrified. You have to use the bathroom- you need to shower- how could he let you sleep with that inside of you? You could get pregnant! You hurry into the bathroom and scour the drawers for those pills. Thank the stars you’d grabbed them- but where are they? You cannot find them.

“What are you looking for?” he asks you.

“Morning after pills,” you say in a hurried tone. They’re nowhere- furiously, you sit on top of the lid of the toilet and hold your head in your hands. “It seems as if you can’t bother with protection-” you swallow your angry tone, mindful once more of last night- before he’d… Before you’d... You’re awash with confusion and sadness. That was how you were always going to remember your first time- confused, conflicted. A man you ought to remember with an amused nostalgia brought only concern and guilt and mild fear- and arousal, you begrudgingly allow yourself to admit.

Concern and guilt and fear. You suddenly feel almost impossibly overwhelmed, your skin crawling.

“Calm down,” Kylo tells you, his voice more gentle than you’d have expected. Suddenly, you  _ are _ calm. You begin to wonder why- then remember. He’s inside of your head. How exhausting. “The medbay has plenty.”

“Are you kidding me?” You ask miserably. “I can’t- no one can know that I- I can’t,” you stutter out. It hurts to say aloud.

“I’ll go,” he says.

“You’re a man,” you dismiss. “Policy states they won’t give it to you-”

He laughs, a beautiful sound that burns your pride. “I’m sure I can convince them.”

“You’re absolutely impossible,” you mutter under your breath.

“Mmm,” he says.

“Why are you still here?” you ask after a pause.

“I’m showering,” he says plainly.

“You have a shower in your chambers, if I recall. I was a little bit busy crying into the mirror after you left me- but I swear I can remember the reflection of it.”

He’s quiet for a long time. Is he- does he feel  _ guilty _ ? You dismiss it as soon as you think it, but- “Yes, I do,” he says gently. “More or less.”

You laugh derisively. “More or less.”

“I regret hurting you. In the moment you liked it- I’m not sure that matters. You’re hurting, now.”

You can’t respond. You were hurting then, too.

“You  _ liked _ to be hurting then.”

You did. That hurts worse. “Hurry up. I have to shower, and- clean your damned wound .” You wish they’d aimed for his head- he’d either be dead or uninjured, then.

“You don’t,” he says gently.

“Are you going to let the medics clean it?”

“No,” he scoffs.

“Then yes, I very much do have to.”

“You can join me, if you’d like.” The offer gives you pause. You find yourself standing before you can consider, then walking into the shower. His eyes are closed and he’s currently washing the shampoo out of his hair.

“You need a haircut,” you accuse, as if to balance the fact you’d joined him.

“So do you,” he says, not looking at you. You scowl at him as you duck under the water, not minding when your body brushes up against his. At least there’s that- at least it doesn’t hurt to look at him.

It had always hurt to look at Father after he’d hurt you.

You feel him tense and hiss gently, then lean close to your ear. “I’m nothing like your father,”

No, he’s not. You lean back into him. “That’s sort of the point of my train of thought- now, get out of my head .”

“No.”

“What do you want from me, Kylo?” You ask, grabbing the shampoo. “Is that even what I should call you?”

“It is my  _ name _ , isn’t it?” he says. “And I don’t know what I want from you anymore.”

You’re almost surprised. “Anymore?”

“Yes.” The shortness of his responses bother you. You scowl through your closed eyes and rinse your hair out in silence. Maybe it has gotten too long… “You’d look good with bangs, is what I meant,” he mutters. He starts to wash his skin, brushing over his exposed wound as if it doesn’t exist. You tsk at him and take the sponge from him, washing his abdomen for him.

“I’ve never had bangs,” you mutter. “Answer my question.”

“I did- and you should.”

You look him in the eyes- you’re about three seconds away from leaning onto the wound again. He meets you with an even expression. “What  _ did _ you want from me, then?”

“A lay,” he says.

“Well, you certainly got that,” you say, your voice breaking. You shove the sponge towards him again and swivel, suddenly wanting to be far, far away from him.

“Y/N…” he says gently. He’s never said it before. You hadn’t even known if he’d known it. “I don’t understand how I feel about you. Something has changed, and I don’t know how to talk about it. It’s pretty close to- however you feel about me. Confused and angry and guilty. Do you know what you want from me?”

_ No _ . You lean into him again, and he wraps his arms around you. “No, I don’t.”

“I guess we’re going to play it by ear then.”

“You’ll never do that to me again- do you understand me? You’ll never- strangle me, threaten me, force me. Even if you know I want it.” You close your eyes.

“Alright,” he agrees quietly. He doesn’t apologize…  _ I wonder how long it’ll take to make you sweet for me, as well as submissive _ . He’s in control. He’s always in control. You can’t even manage to fight anymore- submissive . That would have been the last thing anyone- especially any  _ man _ \- would have called you until now. Sweet for him… Do you want to be sweet for him? You’d likely be happier with this inevitable arrangement. He nudges your ear and you shudder. “You are sweet for me, baby,” he says. “You’re just… A little fiesty.” You can’t help but laugh at that, shuddering again at the smile against your neck… Maybe you are sweet for him. “I wonder what your brother will think when-”

The thought Armitage makes you tense, pulling away. Swallowing, you quickly begin to scrub yourself. “He can’t know,” you say hurriedly. “Do you understand? He cannot know- absolutely not.”

Kylo watches you as you clean yourself, expression unreadable. “Why’s that?”

You laugh. “Are you kidding me? You hate each other. The last thing I need is him knowing I- I’m sleeping with the enemy,”

“I’m the enemy?” He seems a little annoyed by that.

“You’re the enemy.”

Cool- dangerously cool- he leans against the tile wall and keeps watching you. He’s finished; he’s only waiting for you now. “If this goes very far, you’re going to have to tell him eventually.”

You tense.  _ Goes very far? _ “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“If we get to it,” he corrects.

You tense. “You’re the one who suggested it,” you hiss.

“I know,” he says. When you’re done, the two of you get out of the shower and dry off. You dress his wound and hurriedly get dressed- he scowls at your clothing, and when you’re tying your hair into a braided crown, he visibly goes to stop you before clenching his jaw and stalking off. You can tell he’s  _ trying _ not to be a controlling prick, at least.

“Kylo,” you call when you’re done. He walks in, eating an apple, and leans on the door jam. It strikes you finally how- debonair he is, how… Attractive. You swallow as you look at him, and he quirks a brow, chewing slowly.

“It’s about time,” he mutters.

“I hate you,”

“Do you?” he asks, amused.

“Yes,” you lie. He smiles brightly and your heart skips. “If I fall for you and you don’t fall for me, you’d better leave me alone. I don’t need some self-aggrandizing narcissist leading me on, okay?”

He almost looks proud of you- you’re simultaneously annoyed and honored. “Alright. And if I fall for you without you falling for me?”

You sincerely doubt that. “I don’t care- whatever you want.”

He nods, looking at your face for a long time. “What do I have to do to get you to let your damned hair down?”

“Do you happen to own a riding crop?” you snarl, turning back to the mirror. You look like you barely slept- because you have barely slept. You ready your makeup.

“I most certainly do,” he says in a dark voice, eyeing your body.

“I mean for you,” you say in a huff.

“I’m not submissive,”

“Neither am I.”

He laughs aloud, not answering you for a long time. Eventually, though, his response surprises you- “We’ll see.”

You look at him, a small smile on your lips, a lot less annoyed than you had been a moment ago. “I suppose we will.”

The door opens and Kylo tenses. You’re unconcerned.

Wait, no- you study your bedroom for any sign of anything unusual, but find nothing. Okay, yeah. You’re unconcerned.

“What is  _ he _ doing here?” Armitage asks, wandering past Kylo. Your ‘boyfriend’ scowls at your brother for a long moment before taking a bite of his fruit.  _ Boyfriend _ . You could laugh.

“I was attending to his wound again,” you say, sounding- tired. “It seems I’m resigned to play medic for the time being.”

“Wonderful,” Armitage says, trying not to sneer too obviously at Kylo. “I was hoping by seeing you to a more dignified job, you’d find yourself scrubbing more wounds every day.” He’s daring in derision today- almost as if he knows there’s a higher chance Kylo will allow him to be. The dark-haired man’s jaw is grinding- he’ll be in need of a dentist, too, if you don’t see Armitage off.

“I’ve got some restocking to do,” you say. “And I’d like to take stock of the medbay while I’m at it- it hasn’t been done in a while.”

“I suppose I should begin without you, then,” Armitage says, quite obviously not entirely happy about that.

“If you think you can handle it,” Kylo speaks up, and you lower your hands to your vanity as Armitage swivels. “I know it’s difficult to try and live a life independent of one another as conjoined twins-”

“You would do well to silence yourself, Ren,” Armitage hisses. You close your eyes. “And to watch what you say around my sister. Heavens know what sort of- accidents might occur if you continue to agitate her.”

“Boys, please,” you say. “Do not fight over little old me. Ari- please, go to work. And remember-” you look at him with calm, stern eyes. “I’m a grown woman. I can look after myself. I should think I’m able to confide in my brother without him doing anything rash because of it.” He glances down at the ground, opens his mouth, looks at you, closes it. He sneers at Kylo as he saunters past him, the door closing gently behind him. You scowl at the remaining man. “And- you .”

“Me,” he says.

“Get your ass down to the medbay before I strangle you .”

“Yes, Madam Commander,” he says. “Whatever you say, Madam Commander.”


	7. Fester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein you and Kylo finally come to some semblance of an agreement.

You wait until Kylo’s returned with your pills- you need to take them  _ now _ . You take it from him wordlessly, ripping it open as you stalk into the kitchen for a glass and some water. You should've readied it while you waited.

“I made you tea ,” he says, motioning to the kettle. “Impatient, aren’t we?”

“You boiled water for tea, or you put tea in the kettle?” you ask, brows raised. “I don’t particularly fancy having a baby right at this particular point in my life- do you?”

He frowns and says nothing, so you lift the top. Tea is inside of the kettle, several bags floating on top. You can’t help but smile in amusement; almost masochistically, you pour yourself some. It smells very strongly like tea, and you take the pill with it- you gag, nearly throwing the pill back up. Your face doesn’t return to normal before you can finish pouring the kettle out. “No, I don’t,” he mutters, watching you.

“It’s the thought that counts, I suppose,” you say. “But don’t you ever waste my tea again.”

“Yes, Madam Commander,” he says.

You walk toward him- you need to leave, and he’s standing at the door. Before he can turn from you, though, you place a hand on his belly and stand up on the tips of your toes to kiss him. He leans down to meet your lips, letting one hand run over the wool of your coat, but you can’t really feel the contact. He snarls as he discovers that and nibbles on your bottom lip as if in punishment.

You like that a lot more than you’re willing to admit. “You taste like makeup,” he complains.

“I think you’ll live, dear,” you say. “Now get out.”

You’re walking in the same direction, but you speed ahead of him, not wanting to be seen with him. That thought seems to bother him enough for him to walk very close behind you, ignoring you when you hiss mentally at him-  _ go away _ .  _ Back up! What do you think you’re doing? _ In fact, right before he swivels towards the door to his chambers, despite the fact that there are several stormtroopers walking directly the other way, he grabs your ass and leans in close.

“I’ll be missing you, baby,” he coos lovingly. One stormtrooper looks over until the other elbows them, and onwards they go. You slap Kylo’s shoulder repeatedly, harder each time, until he’s gone.

There’s absolutely no way your head is not going to explode. You swivel and hiss at the stormtroopers to  _ halt! _ They do, and you jot their names down. “If you tell anyone what you’ve seen,” you hiss. “You will be immediately relieved of the information. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Commander,” they say in unison.

“Good. You’re dismissed.”

Your morning is consumed by taking stock of the medbay, just as you’d told Armitage it would. Unfortunately, Fate seems to be rather unhappy with you, as right before lunch- right before you leave- both Kylo and Ari walk into the medbay, glancing at each other. Kylo isn’t wearing his mask for some reason.

“Sister!” Armitage greets you loudly, looking at you, trying to distract from his anger. “Are you almost done?”

“I was going to talk to the head medic, but after that, I’m free to go.”

“Good,” said Ari.

“Pardon me,” Kylo says. “Y/N, I-”

“I’m talking to my sister,” snaps Armitage.

“I’m bleeding out,” Kylo hisses in return, his previously indifferent expression overcome with agitation. You gasp and take a step closer, lifting his shirt to see he’s definitely bled through the bandages- and the blood is spreading.

“You need surgery- medic!” You turn. “Prepare an operating table- no, it’s alright, I can handle this one. Finish with your patient.” You look over at Ari apologetically as you slowly remove Kylo’s shirt. “I do hope it isn’t urgent?”

“No,” he says shortly, almost looking wounded. Have you hurt his feelings by- attending to a bleeding man?

“I’m sorry. Find me for dinner, would you?”

“Alright.”

“I’m terribly sorry,”

“I understand.” He quite clearly doesn’t, but he walks off anyway. You walk Kylo into the operating room- seeing the amount of blood he’s losing, part of you doesn’t want to bother sterilizing, but you do- as quickly as humanly possible.

“Don’t put me under,” he says.

“What?” you snap, gawking at him.

“Pain is good for my training,” he says casually. “Just- hurry up. One less thing to worry about, eh?”

“You’re absolutely insane,” you sputter, getting started. Thanks to machines, operation is now a one man job- sometimes, even less. “What in the stars happened, Kylo?”

“I was talking to Snoke,” he said.

“Which often leads to you bleeding out?”

“No.”

You have to resist the urge to pause and stare at him. “If you don’t explain, I’m going to start removing things rather than closing them,”

He smiles at that, for some reason, as if you aren’t serious. “He pointed out… Things. Said things.”

“Kylo. Ren.” Your voice is calm, low, deadly. “Why are you bleeding?”

He frowns as he watches you hastily remove the useless wrappings. “I battered my helmet against the elevator wall until it shattered to pieces.”

You almost don’t believe him. “... The wall, or the helmet?”

“Yes.”

You actually laugh, assessing the wound. The movement of the intense fight with lots of metal has torn and broken up the scabbing and scar tissue. It needs to be cauterized, but that’s largely it. “Are you sure you’d want-”

“Yes,” he says. “No anesthetic.”

“What did he say?”

Kylo pauses, staring at the ceiling as you touch the hot machine to the wound. His eyes and jaw twitch often, but other than that, he seems unaffected. “That I’m a child in a mask.” Your frown, brow furrowing. “And he’s right.”

You’re not sure how to argue that, but you make sure to assure him you don’t believe it for a moment. He quirks a small smile at you. “How much do you know about what’s happening?”

“Not much,” you admit. “I generally space out when Ari is ranting about you.” You frown as he smiles. “Can you- do you see inside his mind, too?”

“Yes,” he says.

“Why did he seem so upset?”

“He’s controlling, overprotective,” says Kylo. “Overdramatic. Unfortunately for him, though, so am I.”

You grimace. “You need to watch yourself- what you did with those stormtroopers was unacceptable .”

“They won’t tell anyone.”

“And you know that how, exactly?”

“I saw inside their minds, too. I saw what sort of people they are. I’m impulsive, but I’m not reckless.”

“Mmm,” you mutter. “Leave my brother alone.”

“No.”

You do pause, now that the bleeding is more under control. You lock eyes with Kylo. “Can you see our past? All of it?”

He’s silent for a moment, and then he nods. “Yes.”

“You know what he’s suffered through to protect me. I won’t let you do anything to hurt him- emotionally or physically, no matter how temporary.”

He inhales slowly, then exhales sharply. “Alright.”

“He’s going to continue to piss you off. If you don’t start controlling yourself-” you pause as a sadness enters your chest. “Whatever this is- whatever we have- is going to be a lot shorter than I’m starting to hope it will be.”

He pauses again, thinking. “Alright.”

“You ought to start controlling yourself more, in general,” you say gently. “What- you did to me, how you act around Ari and in public- your anger,” you tap his skin with a gloved finger. “You ought to control yourself more.”

“I know,” he breathes.

“Okay.”

He’s silent for a long time, seemingly barely affected by the cautery pen you tap against the blood vessels.

“This is lovely,” you say softly.

“Mmm,” he says.

“Is this what couples do?” you ask suddenly, still focused on his wound.

He snorts softly. “No, I’m not sure most couples perform surgery on one another. That being said, I’m not entirely an expert in the field of- coupling. Dating- the field of… Dating.”

It’s a refreshing change for him to be the one embarrassing himself. “Believe you me, darling, neither am I.”

“I know,” he says. “I’ve looked already.”

“You have no boundaries,” you say.

“You have too many.”

“Mmm.” You say. “Maybe I should sew it-”

“No,” he says. You already knew he’d dismissed that before.

“Why not?”

“Pain is good for-”

“Trust me, buddy- sewing it while conscious will more than make up for the infection you’re doubtlessly going to get if I don’t,”

His lips quirk in some sour amusement as you call him  _ buddy _ , and you can tell he’s thinking about it. “Why are you so concerned about my wellbeing?”

You’re taken aback by his question. “I’m a surgeon-”

“You’ve already broken your oath several times with me- leaning on the wound, digging your nails into me, beating me.” He studies you for a long moment. 

Your heart is racing and you’re uncomfortable- you’re feeling guilty, indignant with yourself again- you’re embarrassed that you care, embarrassed that he pointed it out, questioned it. His eyes soften. “Why do you keep- doing this? Making me feel so-”

_ Stupid _ . It’s the worst way to feel- like you’re dumb and silly and bumbling and useless. “I’m sorry,” he says gently- the most sincere sentiment you’ve ever heard from him- and in a moment, that feeling is gone. You probably ought to feel mad about that- him taking things from you without your permission- but so far it’s not been anything you’ve had any use for. You silently warn him it had better stay that way. You stare at the open wound for a moment, jaw tense.

“Are we stitching it up or letting it fester?” The question almost feels symbolic of what you both have gotten yourself into- in more ways than one.

“I want to get better,” he says delicately- almost like the words hurt as they leave his throat. You ready the materials and work in silence.


End file.
